Anette could barely contain her excitement. She had wanted a dog for as long as she could remember but her mother had always discouraged her.
A footman stepped forward and extended the newssheets to her father.
Her father accepted them and waved the footman off. “It is about time,” he muttered as he started to review the articles.
Anette started eating her food but was startled when her father pounded his fist on the table.
“What?!No! It can’t be,” he shouted in disbelief.
“What is wrong?” her mother asked.
“This is impossible,” her father declared. “They must have gotten it wrong.”
Her mother exchanged a concerned glance with her before asking, “Who got what wrong, Benjamin?”
He dropped the newssheets onto the table and his expression was a mix of emotions that Anette couldn’t quite decipher. “Lord Chester is dead,” he revealed in a pained voice.
Rearing back, her mother asked, “He is dead? When?”
“Yesterday. He overdosed on hemlock,” her father replied.
“I didn’t realize he was sick,” her mother said.
“Neither did I.” Her father pushed back his chair and stood up. “Excuse me, but I need a moment alone.”
As her father swiftly departed from the dining room, her mother’s eyes trailed after him. “Poor Benjamin. I didn’t realize that they were so close.”
“Neither did I,” Anette said.
Her mother reached for the newssheets and was silent as she read them. “The coroner ruled it accidental and warned everyone about the dangers of consuming too much hemlock for medicinal purposes.”
“My understanding was that it was safe to consume in small doses.”
“That is true,” her mother confirmed. “Many doctors will prescribe hemlock for swelling, pains of the joints and for skin problems. However, I tend to avoid it altogether. It is difficult to prepare and administer the correct dosage.”
Her mother folded the newssheets and placed them on the table. “I will have to send flowers to Lady Chester. That is the least I can do.”
Barrow entered the room and announced, “Lord Oxley’s coach has been readied.”
With a sigh, her mother went to rise. “I suppose I should tell him.”
“Allow me,” Anette said, jumping up. “You stay and finish your breakfast.”
Her mother offered her a grateful smile as she returned to her seat. “Thank you.”
In a few quick strides, Anette exited the dining room and headed for her father’s study in the back of the townhouse. She felt rather useless during this difficult time for her father so she was grateful to do something small for him.
She stepped into his study and saw him standing next to the hearth. He tossed the papers that were in his hand into the fire and watched them burn.
Her father was so fixated on the hearth that he had failed to notice her presence. “Father,” she said.
He looked towards her warily, startled by her presence. “Anette,” he said, his voice laden with accusation. “What are you doing here?”
She was taken aback by his biting tone. “Your coach is ready,” she responded.
His features eased, yet there was an unfamiliar sternness that lingered in his expression. “Thank you, my dear. I will be right there.”
With a questioning glance at the fireplace, she just nodded her head. “Yes, Father.”
